Unrivaled, page 26
“Or vice versa.”
As long as no one got injured, Max figured things would be fine, but players got injured all the time, accidentally or not. “There’s nothing we can do about that other than play and hope for the best. Like, I’m not going to intentionally hold a grudge, you know?”
“Me neither, but I’m grumpier than you.”
And more suspicious, Max didn’t add. “And then if, I don’t know”—we broke up—“we had a fight—”
“It could paint a target on our backs.” Grady half shrugged. “But that’s hockey. I’m used to that.”
“What did your team think?”
Grady rolled onto his back and admitted, “Mitch and Farouk think it’s hilarious and they’ve been blowing up my phone asking if I’ve seen you yet. Dawg hasn’t said anything, but that’s because he has a crush on me and it’s awkward now.” He turned to face Max with a horrified grimace. “You cannot tease him about that.”
“Not on the ice,” Max promised, gleefully filing away the tidbit. He was more likely to torment Grady with it, but hey. “Anyway. What I’m hearing is there’s actually no problem with your team and everything’s fine so you’re borrowing trouble.”
“I need to prepare for the worst.”
Max opened his mouth to snark—what happened to you that you’re always convinced things will go wrong?—but he bit his tongue. He knew what happened. If Max’s parents had died young in a horrifying accident and his grieving siblings had put their own dreams on hold to raise him, he’d be a little different about it too. “Tell you what,” he said instead as he slid his leg between Grady’s. “You prepare for the worst. I’ll plan for the best.”
“Deal.” Grady craned his neck and glanced at the clock he had on the bedside table like an eighty-year-old who didn’t have a cell phone. “And now I have to prepare with a pregame nap. You’re welcome to stick around, but I need to sleep.”
“Maybe I’ll go skinny-dipping in your pool.” But he made no move to get up. A few minutes later Grady’s breathing evened out into sleep.
Max followed.
THE NEXT day Max was on a plane to Vancouver for the start of a four-game Western Canada road trip.
It would’ve been stupid to miss him. They’d spent more of their relationship—however loosely you defined it—apart than together. Besides, he was too busy to think about Max. He had his own games to focus on. They beat San Jose, and then he had to pack.
He did it with the game on in the background, which turned out not to be very efficient because he kept stopping to watch.
Max wasn’t having a great game. He made three bad zone entries, and Grady was pretty sure the last one was going to cost the Piranhas a goal for being offsides.
He double-checked his toiletries as the officials reviewed the goal. Max looked frustrated, and Grady didn’t blame him. The Orcas were a tough team. Max specialized in finding room where other players couldn’t, working in close quarters to score dirty goals. The Orcas’ defense excelled at keeping opponents out of those areas.
On top of that, he was playing on the Piranhas’ shutdown line, which meant he was playing against the Orcas’ top line, centered by Nico Kirschbaum, who was on a nine-game scoring streak. But the Piranhas’ shutdown line didn’t work anything like the Monsters’, and Max kept falling out of position. Grady found it painful to watch, so he couldn’t imagine Max was enjoying it.
In the third he got so frustrated he broke the Piranhas’ strategy entirely and started looking for someone to take a swing at him or trip him or grab his stick because he was an annoying little shithead.
Grady winced and turned the game off, but he set a reminder to text when it had ended.
He’d finished packing and was watering his houseplants when his phone buzzed to signal the end of the game. The Orcas had won 5–2.
That would be a tough loss for Max to swallow, held to no points and at a minus two for the night. For his first game with a new team too.
Would he want to talk? Grady didn’t know for sure. But he texted in case. I’m still up if you want to call when you get back to the hotel.
Twenty minutes later he got a text notification. Plz tell me u didn’t watch that shitshow.
I mean… I was mostly packing, Grady sent back. But I can lie if it’ll make you feel better.
Fifteen minutes after that, his phone rang.
“I haven’t played a game that bad since my rookie year,” Max moaned.
Sugarcoating wasn’t in Grady’s nature. “I’ve seen you play better.”
“I’ve played better games hungover.” Max sighed. “They’re probably regretting that trade right about now.”
Defeat sounded wrong on him. Max never took games personally—it was his superpower.
His other superpower was knowing what to say or do to snap Grady out of a funk. He’d been doing it, Grady realized now, ever since they started sleeping together. And Grady had no idea how to return the favor. That bothered him. He couldn’t just suck at… boyfriend things. He couldn’t be a worse boyfriend than Max.
So making Max feel better was something he’d have to practice, like any other skill.
It would’ve been easier if Grady could’ve given him a blow job. But he couldn’t, and he also sucked at phone sex, so he’d have to make do with regular words. “I’m pretty sure you’re the only one who expects you to master a whole new hockey system in one game.”
“Ugh,” Max said. “You sound so reasonable. It’s disgusting.”
Grady smiled. There. Maybe Max didn’t feel better, but at least Grady had distracted him. “You’re welcome.”
His next game was better. Grady only caught the tail end of it, from a bar in Raleigh. He couldn’t watch as closely as he wanted because Farouk kept chirping him, but he caught Max’s assist on a goal to seal the Piranhas’ win against Calgary, so hopefully that would cheer him up.
Nice apple, Grady texted.
“No sexting at the table,” Farouk said. “Save it for your hotel room.”
By the time Grady got there, he’d have just enough energy to take his clothes off and fall into bed. Their game had gone to a twelve-round shootout. He was whooped. And Max would just be finishing his game.
“Yes sexting at the table,” Mitch said, “but you have to read them out loud.”
Grady pretended to consider it. “Just mine, or Max’s too?” Not that he’d do either, but Mitch didn’t have to know that.
“Fuck,” Farouk said. “I take it back. Sext all you want, but keep that shit to yourself. I don’t want to know about any Fish’s weird sex kinks. Instant buzzkill.”
Victorious, Grady reached for his beer. “Agree to disagree.”
He fell asleep in his hotel room before Max texted him back. In the morning he had a new text message—That shootout goal was [fire emoji].
They kept up a steady correspondence while Max was gone. Grady loved playing for the Condors. Winning wouldn’t get old anytime soon. Having friends on the team—beyond Coop, who still texted him a couple times a week—made for a completely different experience even when they lost.
And he didn’t feel like the success of the team rested on his shoulders alone. He wasn’t sure if it was the team or the media or the fans or his own ego that made him feel that way in Philly, but he didn’t miss the pressure. And with Farouk on his line, he was scoring more points than he had in years.
Watching Max struggle while Grady flourished was weird. Max was one of the most consistent players in the league. It used to drive Grady crazy. It was strange to hate seeing him play poorly when not so long ago he would’ve reveled in it.
“I feel like I’m on another planet,” Max confided one night from Winnipeg. Grady assumed this wasn’t a comment on the weather, which was approximately the same in Winnipeg in February as it was on the surface of Pluto. “Why would they even trade for someone whose game is so different from their system?”
None of the usual reasons—cap relief, tanking for draft picks, incompetent management—applied, so Grady said, “They obviously think you can adapt. It’s been like a week. Give yourself a break.”
“Eleven days,” Max corrected.
“Oh, I’m sorry, eleven days, including a transcontinental move, some pretty severe jet lag, and your boyfriend fucking your brains out—”
Max made a tiny sound that might have been a laugh.
“—twice—”
“That’s pretty generous.”
“You’re right, there wasn’t much there to begin with.”
“Wow, you suck at this pep talk thing.”
Snickering, Grady thought, What would Max do? “You’re right. Let me try again. Suck it up, figure out what your coaches want from you, and when you get home, I’ll be mean to you in bed about it.”
There was a pause. Then Max said, “Hey, what are you wearing right now?”
So maybe Grady was better at this than he thought. Or at least he had a pretty good learning curve.
Unfortunately, he needed an entirely different skill set to deal with the other most important person in his life.
The day before Max returned from his road trip, Grady had just finished his morning swim when Jess, Polly, and Amanda showed up from Philadelphia with the rest of his plants.
“Hey, loser.” Jess pushed a cardboard box laden with herbs into his arms. “Nice place. Got room for a few more?”
“Come in,” Grady said belatedly. “And uh… I guess that depends how long you’re staying and how you feel about roommates?”
He set the box on the kitchen counter. Jess, Polly, and Amanda followed him in, each hauling a box of plants and with a duffel over their shoulder.
“Roommates?” Jess dropped her bag, gave him a hug—a quick one because he was still damp—then stepped back and narrowed her eyes.
Grady probably should’ve put on a shirt so he didn’t show off the bite mark Max left on his pec. “Uh, I mean, maybe more like occasional overnight guests?”
“Oh my God,” Jess said. “I admit that I wondered after that video went up, but you really took him back?”
“Oh look, a pool,” Polly said brightly. “Amanda, let’s go check that out. Okay bye!”
The sliding door closed audibly behind them.
Grady huffed. “I begged for forgiveness for being an asshole.”
Jess’s eyes went flinty. “He broke your arm, Grady.”
“During a hockey game six years ago, and it was an accident.”
“You didn’t think so at the time.”
“I didn’t know Max at the time.” Max didn’t hurt people on purpose. “Besides, Amanda broke your heart and you gave her a second chance.”
“That’s different.”
“Why? She broke up with you because our parents died and you’ll take her back ten years later just fine, but I broke up with Max because of a dumb misunderstanding and we made up after a couple weeks and that’s not okay?”
Jess crossed her arms, radiating displeasure. “You were really upset.”
“So were you ten years ago, and you don’t see me getting in the way of your happiness now. You think only older siblings get to feel overprotective?”
She broke his gaze. “I’m… sorry. I pushed you to start dating and you slept with Max instead, and you were so happy and then you weren’t, and it just… felt like my fault.”
Grady stared at her. “What the fuck. How was it your fault I thought Max was blabbing secrets about our sex life to his teammates?”
“I didn’t say it was rational.” She dropped into a seat at the breakfast bar.
Grady joined her. “If it helps any, I’ve definitely, like, been there. For example, when you and Amanda broke up.”
Jess looked at him in surprise. “Grades. That wasn’t your fault.”
He resisted the urge to cross his arms in the same defensive gesture Jess had used earlier. “If I’d been older, or if I hadn’t existed, Amanda wouldn’t have had a freakout about becoming a stepparent. She wouldn’t have dumped you.”
“Jesus.” She leaned closer over the counter. “I never blamed you for that, okay? We were both doing the best we could.”
Grady put his hand over hers. “Yeah. And we still are.”
For a second, Jess only blinked at him. Then she said, “Motherfucker, did Max make you this sappy?”
Grady grinned. “Yeah, he did.”
“Ugh.” She rolled her eyes, but she was smiling. “Fine. I guess I’m happy for you. Loser.”
“Thank you.” He smiled. “I think we should hug now?”
“Oh my God, Max really did change you.” But she laughed and stood up to hug him, and she clung tighter than he could remember in years. Grady sank into it. They should hug more often.
Then she pulled away and looked him up and down, her gaze lingering on the waistband of his swimsuit, which had slipped down under the weight of the damp material until the top of the lobster cracker was just visible. “Is that a tattoo?”
MAX GOT off the plane from Edmonton blinking sandpapery eyes and dragging his feet.
The bruises from his time as a Monster had mostly healed and been replaced by new ones, though not as many. He’d finally scored his first goal in a Piranhas jersey, slick and dirty from the paint, the way he liked it.
The Piranhas had taken him out to celebrate, and Max’s liver would never be the same.
But at least he had the proverbial monkey off his back. Now he could… go back to his hotel and be alone.
He unlocked his rental car and dropped into the driver’s seat, where he texted Grady. This is going to sound dumb but I really miss my dog. Facetime isnt the same.
Gru didn’t react to the sound of his voice, and Max couldn’t pet him through the screen. It only made him feel lonelier.
Grady’s response lit up his phone before he could start the ignition. So come over and you can rub my belly.
Horrified, Max dropped his phone and started the car. His hands-free lit up with a second message before he even put it in Drive. With many misgivings, Max pushed the button to have the car read the text.
Ok, that was really bad. Sorry. I’ve spent too much time listening to Jess flirt with her girlfriends. I promise I did not just casually suggest pet play by text. That’s an in-person conversation.
“Jesus,” Max muttered.
“Do you want to respond?” the cheerful Android Auto lady asked.
Fuck it. He really didn’t want to be alone, and he had to meet the in-laws sometime. At least he wouldn’t be stuck in the house with them for three days. “Yeah, tell him ‘Be there in half an hour, freak.’”
Max assumed Grady was the only one home when he got to Grady’s, because Grady dragged him into his bedroom by his tie and—after half tearing the rest of Max’s clothes off—used it to bind Max’s wrists behind his back.
Then he shoved his own pants down and pulled Max over his lap.
Before Max could do more than catch his balance, Grady pressed two slick fingers inside him. Max was still groaning in ecstasy at the stretch when Grady replaced them with his cock.
Max exhaled sharply and arched his back.
A steady stream of filth fell from Grady’s lips as Max rode his dick, and he twisted Max’s nipple piercings almost as mean as Max could ever want.
Max came when Grady slapped the inside of his thigh, blindsided by an orgasm that ripped out of him and left him boneless.
Before he could gather the strength to move so Grady could jerk himself off, Grady’s eyes went wide and his mouth opened and he made a hurt sound and thrust up into Max’s body one more time.
A few seconds later, when he pulled out, Max felt the slick of his come dribbling out of him. He shuddered in pleasure when Grady wiped his thumb up the wetness on the back of his thigh.
They were both shaky when Grady untied him. He made a wry face as he tossed the silk into the trash. “I think I owe you a new tie.”
Max collapsed face-first onto the mattress. “Call it even.” He never wanted to move. “Feel free to defile all of my ties. I’ll start buying them at Costco.”
“Absolutely not.” Grady lay down beside him, still breathing heavily. Max turned onto his side to look at him. “No boyfriend of mine will be seen with a bulk-purchased tie. What would people say. I’m putting my foot down.”
Max still felt gooey inside when Grady said boyfriend. Or maybe that was something else. “What are you gonna do about it?” he teased.
“I told you. You like Tom Ford?” He danced his fingers over the hollow of Max’s neck. “I’ll buy you a new tie. I’ll buy you fifty ties.”
For a moment Max had to bury his face in the pillow to hide his grin. Either sex completely fried Grady’s brain, or he was one of those guys who was prone to spoiling his boyfriend outrageously. Max knew where he’d put his money. “You just want to show me off.”
Grady tapped his nose. “Maybe I do.”
The kicker of it was, Max believed him. And it sounded kind of nice.
He took a deep, happy breath and let himself nap.
HE AWOKE to muffled voices.
At some point Grady’d gotten out of bed, because Max was alone with the sheet pushed down to his waist. He sat up and scrubbed a hand over his face as he tried to gauge the time. He’d probably been asleep for an hour and a half.
If Grady was up and talking to someone—and the voices coming from the direction of the kitchen suggested actual humans and not the TV—then chances were Jess and her girlfriends were home, which meant Max needed to put on pants.
Scratch that. Max needed a shower, then pants.
He scrubbed down quickly in Grady’s en suite, then decided it was better to ask for forgiveness than permission and raided Grady’s dresser. He wasn’t wearing wrinkled suit pants to lounge around Grady’s house.
Besides, how thirsty would that look to Grady’s sister—that Max had been so desperate for it that he hadn’t even bothered bringing his travel bag in from the car.
Max was that thirsty, but he didn’t have to advertise it to anyone but Grady. He slipped on a pair of loose exercise shorts—looser on him than on Grady, because Max’s metabolism made keeping an ass like that impossible—and a T-shirt, and went to go find his boyfriend.
